Prologue
The year was 1970. The specific date was believed to be that of July 1st. Cars were zooming across the golden road one after the other, as it was 89 degrees out.
Driving along the road was a man by the name of Jerry. His vehicle was a red pickup truck. Where he’d come from was irrelevant, as where exactly he was headed was more important. He was not too far away from town as it was just two-and-a-half-miles away. Four seconds passed, right before he drove to the nearest gas-station. There were motorcycles scattered around the place; not that any of them were in his way. After stopping, he then stepped out of his truck to pay for the gas.
Much to Jerry’s dismay, two of the bikers, a man and woman (presumably a couple), watched him do the deed.
After making his fund, Jerry then walked into the convenience store. It was barely empty, as he was the only customer who had entered. It wasn’t until after he rang the bell that the clerk had finally appeared.
The latter was an old looking fellow (looking to be aged 68-72) with short white hair, wearing a sky blue short-sleeved collared-shirt. “What can I do you fur?” he asked in a thick country-accent.
“I’d like a pack o smokes.”
“What kind you want?”
“What kind you got?”
“cigarettes.”
“That’ll do.”
Much to Jerry’s dismay again, one of the biker’s from outside entered the store. It was the woman. She looked to be the young native-American Indian type; granted, that might’ve been because of the pigtails she was wearing. As soon as she walked in, the biker gal grabbed the attention of none other than the clerk.
Jerry on the other hand, still oblivious, handed a $20-bill to the clerk. The latter then handed him the pack. Opening it, Jerry stuck the cigarette butt between his lips. And after lighting the head with a match, he too finally noticed the biker gal standing in front of the entrance. Removing the cigarette butt from his lips, he let out the smoke that he had inhaled. “I wonder who that fine gal is,” he said in a loud whisper. Whether or not he was speaking to the old clerk was irrelevant, as the biker gal slowly approached him.
